


Observations and Explorations

by purplehedgehogskies



Series: Where Her Heart Should Be [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Outtake, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehedgehogskies/pseuds/purplehedgehogskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the first date too soon? Apparently not. When making out in her car turns into making out in his bedroom, things start to heat up between Peeta and Katniss. The question is, are they as ready as they think? A lemony outtake from my fic Where Her Heart Should Be, taking place between chapters 8 and 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observations and Explorations

 

“I hope you don’t think you’re leaving this car within the next minute,” I reply, turning to him and smirking. Peeta leans closer.

     “Of course not,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eye, and then he kisses me. Our mouths crush together and he shoves his hands through my hair, not caring anymore about messing it up. He pulls me as close as he can with this seating arrangement, without dragging me onto his lap, though I don’t think I’d mind if he did that. His hands roam, and so do mine, exploring and grasping as we sigh into each other’s mouths. The kissing has graduated from lip-lock to Frenching, with a certain degree of passion that I haven’t really encountered before.

     Damn, Peeta Mellark is a good kisser.

     I want his hands and mouth on me, to feel his weight pressing me down as he kisses me into oblivion. I curl my fingers through his hair and force myself to pull away, because I know Peeta won’t go so far if I don’t ask him to. Breathing heavily, I gaze at him until he opens his eyes, and then glance to the backseat. He’s already red from the excitement of kissing me, and his lips deliciously swollen as he licks them, thinking on it.

     “I…I don’t know…” he says hesitantly, nervously. “It’s um…a small backseat.”

     “You don’t think you’ll fit?” I ask, tilting my head to one side. He shrugs. “Oh…well…”

     “Do you want to come inside?” Peeta blurts. I blink and glance at the house. “I don’t mean to, um, seduce you or anything. Just. If you want to…” He fidgets and smiles shyly. “It’s just Walden and Dad and me living here now, and, well, they’re at the bakery…”

     “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’ll go in.”

     We scramble out of the vehicle and up the path to the front door. On the porch, Peeta grabs onto my face and kisses me again, quick but still searing, before he starts to fumble with his keys. I don’t really pay attention to the décor or layout of the house when we stumble inside, the only thing I care about is the landscape of Peeta’s body pressing into mine and the way his mouth feels when he presses kisses down my neck. He guides me up a flight of stairs, and then, once we reach the top, down the hallway to a door at the end.

     “Peeta,” I say breathlessly. “More stairs?”

     He laughs, the same easy laugh he always has, but with a subtle difference. It’s rough and low and overflowing with desire. He doesn’t answer me with words, instead hoisting me up so that my legs wrap around his waist and he has to hold on to my ass in order to support me. I yelp and cling to him, but he quickly finds my mouth again, kissing me with the same desire that his laugh held. He carts me up the stairs and into an attic bedroom, with big windows overlooking his backyard. I catch a glimpse of a painting on an easel and a desk in one corner before he drops me down on the bed. Peeta lowers himself and supports his body with his arms, tucking his face in the crook of my neck.

     “ _I want you_ ,” I whisper, and the way his breath catches in his throat I figure I don’t really have to elaborate. He knows what I mean. Peeta’s fingers twist in the bedclothes and he pushes himself back up, gazing down at me with darkened eyes.

     “Katniss,” he breathes. “Are you…are you sure?”

     I nod. Of course I’m sure.

     I pull him back down and kiss him, hoping it conveys just how sure I am. He responds in earnest, his body pressing mine down into the mattress. His breath is hot on my neck and his hands are firm as they clamp down on my hips, holding me in place as he presses kisses along my throat. I grasp his curls and sigh against him, giving in to the feeling completely. I don’t feel burdened by my responsibilities toward my sister, or by the grudge I hold against my mother. I stop thinking about how much I can get hurt if I get attached, and I stop thinking about all I have to lose. Instead I focus on everything I have to gain.

     If there’s any time to do this, it’s now when I’m already high off of the way Peeta makes me feel. I reach for the hem of his shirt and pull upward, letting my hands graze the skin of his abdomen. He kisses me harder before pulling back and yanking the shirt over his head. I pull him back down, my hands exploring the new skin that’s exposed to me. His back, his shoulders, the planes of his chest—I can’t get enough.

     “Katniss,” he sighs, and this time I think it’s just for the sake of saying it. I kiss his jaw and the hollow of his throat before he stops me there, gently tugging me back up. I guess I was wrong—as much as he wants me, he wants to talk about it first. “Katniss. Just to clarify…you want to have sex, right?”

     I nod. I’ve never been really into the idea of sex, but Peeta has inspired some actual lust within me. It’s weird, but it’s freeing.

     “And…it’ll be your first time?” he inquires. I nod again, and I think I see relief in his eyes. He reaches up to guide some messed-up curls behind my ear and smiles slightly. “Okay. Mine too.”

     I smile and pull him back down, holding him by the back of the neck and wrapping my legs around him again. He stops, though, and pulls back once more. I raise an eyebrow.

     “I have to get…I don’t have anything up here…” he stammers, untangling himself. “Before we get farther, we should have the um…yeah.”

     He gets up and stumbles back downstairs, and I listen to him making a racket as he rummages through bathroom drawers. While I wait, I undo a couple of buttons at the top of my dress and kick off my shoes. Peeta’s back soon enough, carrying a bottle of lubricant and a handful of square condom wrappers. He tosses them down near the pillows above my head. I reach for him, easing him back down on top of me, curling my fingers through his hair as we kiss once more. Again we are a frenzy of kissing and grabbing, equal parts clumsy and passionate.

     As I wrap myself around him again, Peeta’s hands stop moving just under my breasts, and he notices the buttons I’ve undone. There isn’t much to see, just smallish mounds partly covered by a plain white bra, but for some reason his jaw drops. His eyes are questioning, eager to look and touch but hesitant all the same. I even surprise myself a bit when I take hold of his wrists and pull them up a few inches so that his hands are cupping my chest.

    He gently palms them through all my clothes, but soon he gets bolder, which I like. I like it a lot. He fumbles with the belt at my waist for a moment, and then he reaches to help me pull the dress up over my head. The absence of my dress leaves me nearly naked, but Peeta looks at me like I’m amazing or something.

     “Beautiful,” he whispers into my skin as he presses kisses over the curve of my left breast. He kisses along my chest and down my stomach until he’s nuzzling my hipbones. “This moment…is so much better than I imagined.”

     “Yeah?” I ask breathlessly. Peeta comes back up, smiling down at me, nodding earnestly. I kiss him because I can’t _not_ kiss him after he’s said something like that. The kissing is intense as he explores the way my body reacts to different touches, though he never puts his fingers right where I want them. I do a bit of taunting myself, rolling my hips against the raging hard on in his pants and nibbling his neck in one particular spot that seems to drive him crazy.

     When he sheds his pants, I allow myself to laugh at the smiley face boxer shorts he’s wearing.

     “Hey. It’s not like I planned this,” he says defensively, and I think his face grows even more flushed. I just smile at him, sitting up and reaching around myself for the clasp of my bra. His gaze travels as I fiddle with the clasp, and he looks on expectantly. When it finally comes undone and I shrug out of the garment, Peeta gulps. “Katniss…”

     “Yeah…”

     He slowly lays me back down, and I let him, watching as his eyes take in the sight of my naked chest. For a second I feel uneasy—vulnerable and bare. Peeta is quiet, observant, even awed, and I realize that I actually want him to look. Peeta makes me feel comfortable, and he makes me feel beautiful and he makes me feel wanted. It’s fantastic, this feeling. It remains fantastic as he begins to touch me, massaging and squeezing and figuring out what makes me feel good and what doesn’t. When he lowers his mouth to one of my nipples, I sigh out his name in pleasure.

     I really do want him, right here, right now, in this bed with the windows open and the bedside lamp glowing. I want to feel him get as close as possible, to wrap myself around him and to make him feel as good as he’s making me. And I think that the same thought is making its way through Peeta’s mind, because he gets up and pushes his underwear down so that it falls around his ankles. The erection that’s been begging to get out finally springs free in all its glory, and really it looks like any other penis that you can see online—it’s the fact that it belongs to Peeta that makes me feel wet anticipation upon seeing it.

      “You okay?” he asks, and I smile and nod. He nods too, feeling reassured. Peeta then kneels back on the bed and tugs on the elastic of my panties. “You want these off, or should I wait?”

     “Off,” I exhale, feeling air rush between my legs as Peeta peels away the final piece of fabric that covers me. I help him, wriggling out of them and pushing them down my legs with my feet. I’m now completely naked before him, and while I feel desperate for his approval, I’m also a lot more relaxed than I would’ve thought. I guess some girls stress about their first time—if it’ll hurt, whether they’ll actually like it, whether or not their partner will be pleased, etc. But, while I am concerned about these things, I am not afraid.

     Peeta reaches into the little patch of hair I keep there and searches around. When I gasp, he knows he’s found my clit, but he doesn’t really seem to know what to do with it. Luckily, I do. I reach for his hand and guide it, rubbing slow circles around the area until he catches on. He’s a little clumsy and a little too gentle, but it feels good. I rub against his hand to encourage him, and he leans in for a kiss. “Peeta,” I sigh into his mouth. He probes my folds with the tips of his fingers, exploring blindly until he sits back and watches what he’s doing. “Peeta…”

     “Can I just…um…touch you for a little longer?” he asks, pausing with his hand cupped over me. I nod, because I really don’t want him to stop. I’ve touched myself before—it was hesitant, clumsy, but not unpleasant. Now, it’s better. Peeta uses one hand to hold my hip as the other strokes my clit and labia at the same time. Without warning he slips a finger in, moving slowly in and out, cautious, quiet, observant. It feels amazing, so amazing that I cry out in protest when he stops.

     “Shh,” he says, and reaches for one of the pillows to put under my head. I watch as Peeta opens the condom wrapper and pulls it out, pinching the tip before rolling it onto himself. He then takes my hand and squeezes some lube onto his fingers and mine. “Put some of this on. It’ll make it easier.”

     “Mhm,” I say, and do as he asks. I’m already so wet, but a little more lubrication won’t hurt at all. He rubs some on himself and wipes it off on the sheets before I open my legs to him. He settles between them, and I help him position himself right before my opening.

     “Ready?” he asks, and I nod.

     He slowly pushes inside, my hand guiding him. I feel myself stretching around him, and it’s so uncomfortable that it hurts. Peeta pauses, brushing hair out of my face, waiting for me to adjust. I nod, hoping he’ll move, because lying there doing nothing isn’t going to help anything.

     “Just. Go slow, okay?” I ask. He nods and leans over me, holding my hip with one hand and my face with the other. As I suggested, Peeta pulls back and then pushes slowly back in, and it’s not as bad the second time. He looks me in the eye, hungry, gentle, caring and lusty as he drags out, thrusts in, over and over. It’s intense.

     I’m starting to like it.

    I’m starting to more than like it.

     I dig my fingers into his lower back to urge him on—not too much faster, just a little. I mutter warbled instructions in his ear, pulse racing, breath hitching. He gasps as he pumps, kissing my shoulder, kissing my ear, my chin, my mouth. I feel him reach for my hand and thread our fingers together at our sides, now joined in more ways than one, it seems. This means so much to him, almost too much, but then it also means something to me. Something, I don’t know what…right now, I just feel.

     I feel Peeta inside me, drawing out and back in, and I feel his hand in mine and his mouth on my neck, worrying away at the skin and whispering my name. Gasping, whispering, faltering.     I think he might be close to finish, but I’m hardly halfway there. I feel tightness, a buildup of tension, all the tells of impending orgasm…but I know that I’m not there yet.

     But Peeta is. “Katniss,” he says, “I don’t know how much longer…” Sweat beads on his forehead and he holds onto my hand tighter, gripping the sheets behind my head like he’s holding on for dear life.

     He jerks and gasps softly, and I think I feel the condom filling. There’s a stretch of time during which Peeta doesn’t move any part of his body but his hand, the hand that’s holding mine. He just lightly strokes my knuckle with his thumb, over and over until he lifts himself up again and pulls out.

     “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can, um, try to help you finish if you’d like.”

     I nod—now that I’ve started this climb, I don’t want to stop. It doesn’t take much to get me off, really. I play with my breasts as he rubs my clit and whispers encouragements, and before long, he’s got a finger inside me. I come that way, listening to him say my name.

     We collapse beside each other, pulling up blankets to ward off the nighttime chill, and we just lay there. I feel the regret coming in, but I still feel sated and content, I still feel too good to feel bad. I fall asleep on the line between steady and unsure, and I can only hope that I figure it all out before I wake up and face Peeta again.

     Because whether I admit it or not, what we shared tonight was special and intimate, and as amazing as it was…I don’t know if I’m ready for any of this at all.  

 


End file.
